Sanford and The New Girl
by yoSHRIMP
Summary: Sanford Wesley Clark stepped into the ranch bright eyed and vulnerable, stepped out wounded and dark. When a strange young girl invites him to be a part of her own personal project Sanford wonders if his past will let him have a future. SanfordXOC
1. Sanford, Meet Riley

Sanford Wesley Clark stepped into the ranch bright eyed and vulnerable, stepped out wounded and dark. When a strange young girl from invites him to be a part of her own personal project Sanford wonders if his past will let him have a future. SanfordXOC

* * *

This is a Changeling fanfiction that's been focused on Sanford Clark. This fanfiction is based around both the movie and history but mostly the movie so don't worry. And though many sources will say that Sanford is Stanford, his name is indeed Sanford. Well anyways, alongside wanting to kill Captain Jones and all those other LAPD ass holes, I kept wondering about Sanford! And how on earth a young boy that traumatized would hold up. Lastly, in reality, Sanford went on to attend an all boy's school somewhere before returning to Canada, I meddled a bit with the truth in this fanfiction. Hope that's okay. So this is basically about him. Oh, and, keep in mind this was in the late 1920's.

* * *

Boys and girls impeded at the sound of the relentless school bell and thunderclaps of lockers slamming. By the time the bell had ended, Sanford Clark was halfway inside his Biology class.

He quickly took his seat, on the third row and by the window blinds. The blinds were hardly ever uncovered and the window was never open. It was a very dull school, had a knack for keeping their hand over misbehaving students. It wasn't something they had intended the school to be known for but over time Sanford guessed it just became that way.

He lowered his books onto his desk and glanced to his left. Yeah, he couldn't see anything through those blinds.

But it was nice to acknowledge that something was there.

Before you knew it, all the chairs were sat on by students. Boys with beige vests and girls with black or brown skirts that ended at the rims of their neat white socks, all of them giggling and passing notes back and forth.

Mrs. Fleming, a timed educator with a short fuse, took a sharp glare at the note being passed to the back of the room. "We've only just begun our classes, do you intend on wasting _every _second?"

Nobody replied, or looked up. The notes never really came to Sanford. To anyone else, the reason might be hard to grasp. They hadn't known about his dark past, they'd heard about a serial killer back in America but this was Canada- other things were happening, the name of the boy that came forward was the last thing on their mind

As far as they knew, Sanford Clark looked just like any other sixteen year old did. He was fifteen years old back when he was kept captive was Northcott Ranch at Riverside County California. Two months, he spent getting through the paperwork, the public, the eyes of America and an extra month getting to know his parents again, getting to know himself again. Now, no one would have realized he had been through months of trauma. He looked normal, he wore scuffed brown leather shoes and gray pants, his white blouse was loose with rolled up sleeves and his beige cap was placed up on the hanger before every class. His hair was a fair brown, his messy bangs ending below his dark eye brows.

His mind was always just too occupied to take in silly notes from silly kids. He felt as though he was above them, older than them, wiser than them, had more authority than them. But at the same time he felt like he owed each and every one a greater apology than anyone could ever fathom. This was why he had no friends.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Sanford Clark wasn't exactly a good kid; there was also no doubt that Sanford had some sort of secret he wasn't inclined to share with anyone.

The passing of notes was interrupted again by Mrs. Fleming.

"I take it you're all unexcited about meeting our new student?"

Her words hindered the students like the school bell had. The idea of a new student tickled them all.

"Riley Fischer." Mrs. Fleming turned to the door, welcoming a girl who took a few deep breaths before peeking her head into the room.

As she poked out her green eyes to examine the room, long locks of hazel hair tied with a long white ribbon fell behind her ears.

She stood up straight, revealing a slender but short girl of pale skin and a beautiful small smile.

She wore black shoes with shining silver buckles, the elegance of it however diminished with her white socks- one slid down to her ankles and the other perfectly upright. She wore along with her imperfect socks a sweet blue dress with a white collar.

She turned her head to Sanford; her ample eyes sparkled with an inquiring glow.

Sanford replied with the same blank stare.

And they shared a quiet, long moment free of evil.

"Riley," One girl put her hand up with a smile. "Come on, sit over here."

She was already known 'round the neighborhood.

While Mrs. Fleming began a speech on something about new students and welcoming and the Biology courses, the girl who had invited Riley over to sit spoke to her softly.

"See, that's the boy I was telling you about." She pointed at Sanford.

Riley smiled a bit pleasantly. "I knew it."

The girl, who was named Claire, spoke in a whisper- Mrs. Flemming had already begun going over the homework. "He's weird as ever. I've heard him talk about twice this entire year."

"That's bizarre, what does he say when you talk to him?"

Claire scoffed, "Are you kidding? No one talks to Clark."

Riley gave her pencil a good chew at this. If no one talked to Clark, how could they expect him to talk back? Kids could be stupid sometimes. Before she knew it, the whole class was looking at her and Mrs. Flemming was screaming her name.

"Miss Fischer!"

Riley shot up from her seat, the pencil still inside her mouth, she pulled it out of there as quick as she could. "Yes, sir! Oh damn, I mean 'ma'am'. I mean- not damn, uhm, yes ma'am?"

The class laughed.

Even Sanford let out a small laugh as he turned his head back around to face the board and away from Riley Fischer.

Sanford had heard the bell for the sixth time that day. He had just stepped out of Mr. Lightwood's math class, for some reason, he was always the first to be ready to leave the class and always the first in the next class. He never thought about this much but the truth was that over the six months Sanford had been attending Brickwall High, Sanford enjoyed being at school. He was never a studious person before moving to America but he missed that sense of normalcy in his life. He needed some sort of routine that was known to him and not someone else. He was sick of being surprised by arbitrary trips to arbitrary towns picking up arbitrary kids. But more than that, he was sick of _not _being surprised by them. Over time, Sanford had begun to expect the car to be there in the morning, engine running, good working tires, and his uncle well combed and dressed. He needed a routine. But not just any routine, he needed a routine that any old fifteen year old kid could have.

But this was lunch time, a bit different. He wasn't so enthusiastic about sitting with these kids who looked at him like he was an animal. The worst thing was that he legitimately believed that he was an animal. A dangerous, pathetic cross between a snake and a hamster.

People kept their distance from him when he was in line at the cafeteria. But while he was thinking about how he was starting to dislike the taste of bread, a tray knocked against his.

Before he even turned his head to look, he could already guess who it was. He glanced, of course, to confirm. Riley Fischer was reaching over to grab a gray-ish hotdog, biting her tongue as she tiptoed to get it, in the process a bit of her hair fell into her potato salad. She sighed, pulling her hair back to examine the muddled locks and he couldn't help but take a second glance. Her face was striking, her cheeks were tight and rosy, her lips pursed in a frustrated pout and her eyes so fixed on the mischievous potato salad. This was probably why she was so popular with the school but Sanford could see beyond her face and bright dress- there was a clumsiness and messiness about her that was almost destructive. She was a chaotic kid.

She hadn't noticed him there. When she had she blinked and silently told her mischievous potato salad to behave himself.

The line had eventually progressed and the last bowl of chocolate pudding was between them.

"You can have it if you want," Sanford said. "I'm not really a fan of sweet things."

With a smile, Riley shrugged and put it on her plate. "Thanks Sanford."

The line ended with deserts and it was time to retreat back to your own tables.

"It's Sanford right?"

"It is."

"I know your Dad. I mean, my Dad knows your Dad."

"Oh," he bit his lip and his eyes trailed around the corners of the cafeteria room. He hunted through the files in his brain for a more colorful response but his findings came down to one. His tongue twisted in a tangle and his first word escaped as a stutter. "Welcome to Vancouver."

She beamed sweetly. "Thanks."

A loud voice reached over from the other side of the room, "Riley!"

She jerked her head back and held her heavy tray by one hand while her other waved at the table which was filled to the brim with kids.

She looked back at Sanford, "Where are you sitting?"

"Uhm," he took a peak at the table behind her which so desperately called for her presence. One of them whispered to the other and gave Sanford a look that made him feel like even more of an animal than before. He silently added raccoon to the list. "Your friends are calling you again."

"Oh," she looked back. "See you again, okay?"

He responded with a weak smile. He took his first steps to his table backwards, deciding to take a small number of moments to watch the only girl who'd said his name so friendlily skip to her table and watch the blue of her dress sway from left to right and the hazel of her hair bounce with her ribbon. But the girl turned around and ran back to him with something hidden behind her back.

She pulled the bowl of chocolate pudding before him and put it on his tray. "_Everyone_ likes pudding."


	2. Riley's Project

In the last chapter, we met Riley and Sanford for the first time and they met each other for the first time. Riley seems to be interested in Sanford a bit and is clearly being nice to him but let's see how far this story takes them.

* * *

It was after school.

Riley stood at the steps of a small but tall red brick house, looking up at the windows.

"Sanford, a friend's here for you." His mother, Winefred Clark, called. (AN: Her name actually IS Winefred Clark, she's the sister of the murderer Gordon Stewart Northcott. Dayum, look who did her research!)

He walked towards the entrance and poked his head through the gap he had made with the door.

She smiled, "Hi—"

When he saw her face he quickly poked his head back in and without consent, his arm shut the door in her face.

She stood there for a couple of seconds, replaying the image of the shut door in her head with a cocked eye brow. She outlandishly turned around to walk back home but the door opened again.

He held it, not fully allowing her to enter but giving her enough grant to at least speak to him. "Sorry." He apologized awkwardly, not knowing himself why he closed the door.

She walked back up. "Hi. I'm Riley, from school."

"Yeah," he already knew her name. "I remember."

"Well, we've officially moved in." she turned to the side and pointed her finger at a small white house. "See? Four houses down." She looked back at him. "Mom told me to say hi."

He nodded, the look on his face a bit defensive but inquiring at the same time.

"Mind if I ask a question?" She cocked her eye brow and her face illustrated the look of curiosity. "Why are you so quiet?"

An awkward breath of laughter escaped and he cocked his eyebrow. "Uhh," _Well, she's forthright. _So he began rummaging through those files again. Why was he so quiet? Since when did Sanford Clark, the kid with so many friends become scared of his classmates? Then thoughts came rushing back to him, he felt his grip tighten around the door. He held back the memories. "Just a quirk, I guess." He said with hesitation.

A smile began to form on her mouth. "You _are _bizarre."

He didn't exactly respond, unable to recognize fascination.

"Well, there's another reason why I'm here." She moved on. "My father's working on a swing set for my sister. We're a little short handed, I was wondering if you knew your way around tools?"

Tools, no way. Not tools. He's seen and used enough tools. Enough to mentally scar him.

"I can't."

She cocked an eye brow.

"I've just… Got English homework I have a few problems with."

"Oh," She said disappointedly. They both said nothing. Riley turned back and walked down the steps. Sanford couldn't unearth the power to close the door.

Which was good because she turned her head back around. "Maybe I could help you sometime with English, if you're having some trouble."

With a look of disbelief, he shrugged and spoke "Y-yeah, sure."

Riley skipped back to her backyard and her father greeted her with a sigh and put down his tools. "Where were you off to?"

Riley sat by the half completed swing set. "I just asked if Sanford Clark wanted to help out."

"Darn it, Riley, leave the poor kid alone. The last thing a boy like him needs is a girl like you poking his neck."

Her breath escaped sharply. "I can't! He's the top candidate for my new project. I've decided to invest quite a good deal of hope into this discovery."

Riley's defense hit her father like rubber hits glue, he was too busy drumming a nail between a stubborn wood plank.

When Sanford shut the door he was startled by something and almost forgot to lock it. It was his mother, greeting him from the back with her arms folded before her chest and eyes bawling for an explanation.

"Who was that?"

Sanford sighed through his teeth. "Classmate. No one, Mom." He had his eye on the staircase and headed for it until his mother halted him with a palm on his shoulder.

"I heard her invite you over for something," Mrs. Clark smiled kindly, letting go of her son and taking hold on the small towel by her shoulder. She wiped the tips of her fingers and walked slowly to the kitchen. "You should go over, be a part of the community."

He made it as far as their front steps. The floor was bare of a doormat and the doorknob was coated perfectly with golden paint. Was it really okay to hit his coarse knuckles against such a fine door? He figured someone else was going to do so anyways so might as well be him. But Sanford couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Hey, there."

He turned his head to search for the origin of the voice and saw a middle aged man with a soaked blouse and bruised hands. He had his torso poked out from the white fence that bordered from the middle of the house.

Sanford walked down the front steps and over to the mysterious man. "Is this the Fischer residence?"

With just a small nod and smile, the man instantly became the second adult Sanford was friends with besides teachers and his parents. The first was Dan the mailman.

"Riley's not here, sorry to say." Mr. Fischer said. "helping her mother grocery shop for dinner."

"That's fine." He shrugged_. _"I'm just here to help out. I heard you were making a play set or something."

"Mighty kind of you," said Mr. Fischer, taking the fence door in his hand and opening it for Sanford to come in.

The boy took off his hat, running his fingers messily through his locks and taking a good look at the garden he'd never seen except from outside. "Are you working with pre-chopped wood, sir?"

"Sure thing. Why?"

A 700 pound weight was lifted off his shoulder. "No special reason, sir."

Riley returned home to a beautiful melon colored sky and the sound of silence when she had expected to hear the striking of a hammer. She stepped into the house to find her father taking in a cool glass of water with his wife stocking the refrigerator up with vegetables and frozen fish.

"Done already?" Riley took a seat by the tiny dining room table. Her baby sister, who sat on the corner of the room copied her big sister, saying "already" with the baby-ish talent she had of taking her r's and turning them into w's.

"Surprisingly, yes," her father said. "Your friend Sanford came to lend a hand. Good boy."

Riley's green eyes widened at this and she sucked on her lower lip in thought. "Really?"

The final school bell rang. Riley tripped on the third front step of the school trying to catch up to Sanford Clark.

"Hey!"

He cocked his head back and saw Riley Fischer, who else.

"Who's your teacher?" She caught up.

Sanford's brow raised. "What?"

"Your English teacher," she said this as if it was a matter a fact thing.

"Mrs. Samuels, why?"

"Well, I'll have to know who your teacher is if I'm going to help you with English." She walked on ahead of him, leading the way to his own home.

"Listen," He caught up with her, "You don't gotta do this."

"But I told you I'd help you out with English someday and you did me a solid by helping out my father. Besides," She spun around her right heel, her dress and hair flying with her as she turned to face him. "I heard you're terrible at English." She walked on.

He was left there, mouth half open in skepticism that he'd just been insulted.

Nonetheless, Riley was right. Sanford had given five months of schooling, among many other things, to his revolting cousin Gordon. Over the months, he'd lost sight of some things but not many. Most of the therapists and adults he talked to assumed that the terrifying, more recent memories he'd been through over at Northcott ranch buried any remaining memories with any importance such as math or whether e indeed did equal mc2. But the truth was that he remembered these things. He almost depended on these things. Late at night when there'd be nothing left but the demons of his guilt to be afraid of, he'd look back to what Mrs. Lowe had said about exponential growth. Things like literature? Things that need heart, morality, and love were what were hard. Anything good and sweet like that, he'd buried down with the kids at Northcott.

This was why Riley was in front of him now, back against his couch and reading on of the poems he'd written and gotten a D over. Sanford sat in front of the coffee table before the couch, his palm holding his cheek, awaiting some sort of response.

She laughed and put the page down. "This isn't a poem. This is a shopping list. Or something with heart equivalent to that."

He took the page back and stuffed it back in his bag crossly. He cleared his throat and said in defense, being embarrassed for the first time in a long time, "It's not like I spent a huge amount of time working on it."

"That's problem number one." Riley started, clearing her throat and straightening her back for a very sophisticated voice she was preparing to exercise. "A poet must always dedicate a fair amount of his daily routine to his art." She stuck her tongue out teasingly. "Then again, I'm not a poet. I'm a scientist," she said proudly.

She read the disbelief on his face like a person reads a pamphlet.

Riley rolled her eyes, "I know what you're thinking. Biology, not my best subject but I can't help myself." Her voice softened and the glow in her eyes grew and some of it escaped from her mouth as she spoke, "I want to be a scientist."

She shook her head and brought herself back to English. "But I managed to get an A- on my last poem."

She pulled it out of her notebook and handed it over to the boy who put it down after a few glances.

"This is about mustard and ketchup."

Riley scoffed. "So?"

"Who's your teacher?"

"Miss Coleman." She answered, openly.

"That's why. Coleman's one of the easiest graders at Brickwall."

She frowned in incredulity. "Want my help or not?"

He sighed, deciding that beggars can't be choosers.

"It doesn't matter what its about. As long as you have passion for it." She propped her elbows onto the coffee table and held the sides of her face. "Now," she started, impishly. "What do you have passion for?"

"Passion?"

"Or hate, actually. A person like you would typically relate to the more cynical sides of poetry better. Tell me about the trauma in your life."

"Trauma?" He swallowed.

"Yeah."

"I'd rather not think about it."

"Come on."

Sanford was beginning to sweat, there wasn't a day when he'd forget about Northcott ranch. He came so close to not thinking about it but there it was again, irking him. With every blink he took, he heard the sound of axe hitting bone. He tried hard to keep his eyes open because of this and his eyes began to water- it actually wouldn't have made a difference if he closed his eyes or opened them.

Riley leaned in closer to inspect the expression on his face which she'd never seen before. "What are you thinking about, Sanford Clark?"

He was pulled back to reality and he wanted so desperately to retreat back to his room and be left alone. He could not do it. Switch back and forth from a world where he could have friends and he could talk to Riley Fischer normally and the world of reality where he wasn't a good person and could never be a good friend.

"Uhm," Sanford swallowed. "Nothing."

Her bright eyes sparkled and broadened, "You _are _bizarre."

He threw his hand on the table and turned his head away, "Stop saying that." The silence begged for the question to be asked. "Why are you here, Riley."

She sat back against the couch with a cocked eye brow but played along. "I told you, I said I'd help you out with Engli—

He cut in. "No, not like that." He scratched his head. "Why are you talking to me?"

She began to take offense. "Am I not allowed to?"

"You don't want to be friends with me, Riley."

She pursed her lips and spoke through the corner of her mouth, "Interesting", and pulled out a pencil and opened up her notebook to an arbitrary page.

"People avoid me for a reason, people stare and mark down and hate for a reason." Sanford declaimed. "But that doesn't even scrape off the icy surface of what I deserve to be treated like."

She looked up from her notebook, "this some line from a novel?"

He tugged on his bangs from irritation. "What? No—

"Good." She looked back down at her notes.

"You don't get it—." he took a breath, "Stop trying to be nice to me, trust me when I say I don't deserve it."

She looked up for the last time, her notes ready for his confirmation. She drove the notebook before him with her forefingers. "Take a gander."

Sanford took a break from his rant to see what she'd been writing.

_You don't want to be friends with me_

_People avoid me for a reason_

_People stare_

_People mark down_

_People hate for a reason._

_It doesn't begin to scrape off the icy surface of what I deserve._

_Stop being nice_

_So trust me_

_When I say I don't deserve it._

"That's all you," she said.

He looked up from the page. "She'll never buy anything this lame."

"Excellent work, Mr. Clark." Mrs. Samuels said with a smile, bringing her fingers up to lift the delicate ends of her glasses. "You've managed to express a slice of your life as poetry. Do you see where art is derived from? It is derived from the soul."

He pulled the strap of his book bag over his shoulder. "I understand, ma'am."

"Good work." With her consent, he was allowed to leave the classroom.

Sanford had lost ten minutes of his lunch time to Mrs. Samuel's praise but it was worth it for a B+. While he ate his chocolate pudding he thought about how that glossy new grade would look on his report card.

But all thoughts escaped him once Riley propelled her tray before him, granting herself a seat before him right after.

"How did it go?" She beamed sweetly.

His chocolate pudding hit his tray and he gave in to the urge of glancing to his side and take a good look at _the _table. He secretly readied himself for glares, he was sure they were eyeing him. This hadn't confirmed his prediction. The nasty glares weren't directed at him this time. No, he was certain they were looking at Riley.

He whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I bet she liked it" She laughed, penetrating the thin membrane of her juice box with a straw. She took a sip, "so listen, I have something to tell you."

He was hardly listening to her. Sanford kept looking back at the table, they kept staring at her- eyeing her- marking her down- turning her into an animal in their minds. He gritted his teeth and drove her tray to her chest. "Get out of here," he said. With that, he seized his tray into his arms and stormed out, heading for the closest disposing bin.

Riley looked down with a grimace, going over what he had said in her head. Eventually she settled on an suitable verdict. She pulled up behind him and pinched his arm to catch his attention, "What's your problem?"

He shook his head, stuffing his tray with the rest of the used dining ware and muttered under his breath, "From the top of the list?"

When he turned around to sit back at his table, he took a glance at Riley's face and couldn't muster up the leg power to walk away. She stared at him, biting her entire lower lip like she was trying desperately hard to intimidate him and not look down like a defeated coward ling.

He took a breath and said quietly, "we can't be friends."

The bell rang and the two looked up. The tables began clearing themselves.

Riley took one last look at Sanford. "I thought we already were", and stormed away to the opposite direction.

Riley kicked the fence door open, deciding she wanted to cool off on the swing set. Her bag was thrown on the floor and she gave it an extra kick to release some of her frustration.

Her mother stuck her head out the kitchen window, "Hey, cool it Riley! What's wrong, babe?"

She sighed loudly, "It's over, he's a failure as a candidate."

Mrs. Fischer heaved a sigh, "maybe its for the best."

"Right," Riley mouthed, rolling her eyes.

_Knock Knock Knock, Knock Knock Knock_

Both Mrs and Miss Fischer looked up.

Sanford pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his free hand stuffed in his pocket and fidgeting with a paper clip as he waited for the door to open. But he heard a voice from his side instead

"What do you want?" Riley had her body lunged over the fence, her light eyebrows so tightly pressed against the top of her eyes and filled with a charming rage.

Sanford walked down the steps and readied himself for an apology. "I'm sorry for how I said some stuff." Her neutral expression called for more. He cleared his throat, not being prepared with anything else to say. "Thanks for the poem," he forced a weak smile on his face. "I'll go now."

"Come on." She opened up the fence door. "There's something I still have to tell you."

There was a silence as he followed her into the garden. She saw him look around.

"Like the house?" She said, sitting down on the swing set. She suddenly looked up with her fingers pressed against her lips, "Whoops, I forgot you've already been here."

He put his bag down, taking some time to run his hand over the swing. "No, I like it."

She looked up in thought, "I think I like your house better. Your mom's got nice drapes." He said nothing. "Your house still looks new, how long have you lived there?"

He drew his hand back. "My whole life," he lied.

"Wow, your dad must take care of the place good." She laughed under her breath. "My dad's a dunce with tools and stuff like that. Our last house was a mess."

"But where did you live before coming to Vancouver?"

"Chicago."

He looked up. "America?"

Riley laughed, "Of course."

His face stiffened and like a kid who'd been caught in a game of hide-and-seek, the game was over. He was back at square one. _She must know. She must know about Gordon. She must know about Collins. There's not a person in the world that hasn't heard about the Collins kid. She must know about me. _

"I've got to go, Riley." He started for the fence but took a step back, only to grab his bag.

"What!"

He took his first steps away from her and she stood up, not bothering to even dust off the sawdust off her dress from the brand new swing set.

"Wait, Sanford, don't go!" She clenched her fists. "There's something I haven't told you yet!"

He'd concocted somewhere up in his mind that she was conspiring against him the entire time, she knew. She had to have known and now she was going to open her mouth and tell him all about her repugnance and loathing for animals of his kind. He didn't desire to hear what she had to say. He just turned around and lifted his foot, about to take his first last step out her property.

She bit her lip in annoyance and pounded her fist against her dress, she'd decided to tell him whether or not he wanted to hear. "Sanford Clark!" She pointed. "You have been specially selected out of a collection of candidates and specimens to be my new project."

He turned around, the look on his face pricelessly confused. "Excuse me?"

Riley sighed, releasing her clutch on her dress and letting out a breath she did not know she had been holding. Biting her lip, she let her eyes roll to the corner of her eye while she thought. She'd decided. "Come with me."

The look on Sanford's face had not changed. He blinked and realized that he had been standing that way for quite a while and Riley was by the doorway.

"Well, hurry up!"

And it was as if a remarkable current of air had run through the open doors and clutched onto Sanford's wrist. And it tugged, and Sanford followed Riley.

"I am about to show you something I have never _ever _shown to any other kid except for myself." She blocked the door marked "RILEY'S ROOM" with her entire body, arms stretched over the walls. Then she raised her arms and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him against the wall brutally: "You have to _promise_ not to talk about this with anyone other than me!"

He was startled by her sudden zeal and fume and yelled a little louder than the voice in his head did, "I promise!"

Riley was amazed by his abrupt gusto and a smile began to form on her face, as if she was sure that she wanted Sanford to be the first kid to see whatever it was she was hiding behind her door.

Without further a due, she opened up the door.

The first thing Sanford saw was a few boxes around the corner of the room and a small messy bed but he looked up and saw over the short Riley's head, a desk covered with empty jam jars, tiny boxes, and coca-cola bottles.

After further inspection, he noticed strange greenish molds in about five or four jars, gummy black gunk in the rest, and even some bottles with colorfully angular things he couldn't make out lodged inside of them. On the wall before the desk were images of the loch ness monster, the elephant man John Merrick, and first hand interviews with Big Foot's wife.

She watched his dazed expression proudly. "Impressive are they not?"

Sanford said nothing.

"I've got one of the most remarkable collections of bizarre things in the entire continent." She beamed. "Wanna know my dream?" She sat down on the bed. "I want to open up a museum."

Despite his silence, Sanford was especially fascinated at this point.

"Imagine it!" She stood up again. "RILEY FISCHER'S REMARKABLE MUSEUM OF THE BIZARRE!" Riley giggled, "See this here?" she brought the largest jar up to his face. "These are the rotting remains of a seven legged spider."

He jumped, taking a step away from it as Riley picked up the bottle beside it.

"This coca-cola bottle supposedly had a severed thumb floating inside of it." She put it down and took in her hands a tiny blue box.

"This is a sixth leaved clover."

Sanford wasn't afraid to bring his face closer to this one, a clover seemed hardly dangerous.

"That was before my baby sister Lilly harked it back out after eating it," Sanford drew his face back. "Now it's a 1 and a half leaved clover."

Sanford still couldn't find anything to say.

"And this," Riley's voice softened and her hand reached for the right desk drawer and her delicate fingers wrapped around a notebook. She held it, softer than the rest of the things she had so enthusiastically brought to Sanford's face. "This is you."

He looked at her then back at the notebook. He flipped the pages quickly. "There's nothing in it."

"Yet." She smiled, taking out a piece of paper from the same drawer. "Sign this, Sanford. It's the official contract."

The childish handwriting, how the lines were written in a slight slant, it was almost laughable. Yet Sanford read the thing with as much vigor and sincerity as that reflected in her eyes.

"In exchange of me helping you with your homework every day, I expect, in return, a session at the end of each visit regarding your bizarre behavior."

He looked up at her. The situation begged for the question "Are you serious?" but the look on her face made the question obsolete.

He felt as though he'd go to hell if he denied.

He raised the contract to her. "I can't, Riley."

Out of the blue, a knock on the door.

Riley shifted her eyes from the contract to her mother, who stood leaning against the door with a smile plastered on her face, then back to the contract. She snatched it out of his hands and behind her back.

The two shakily turned themselves to Mrs. Fischer, heels together.

"I don't believe we've met, Sanford." Mrs. Fischer strolled towards him. She was a thin woman, her hair in tight red curls and her face was bright and beautifully crafted. But Sanford noticed that her beauty was different to that of Riley's. While Mrs. Fischer's friendly air and disposition was much like Riley's, as was Mr. Fischer's persistence and enthusiasm but none of their physical attributes did Sanford see in Riley's face.

Sanford ran his fingers through his hair before reaching over to shake Mrs. Fischer's hand. "Sanford Clark, ma'am."

"I know who you are, honey." She beamed. "I want to thank you for letting Riley feel so at home here in Vancouver. I hope she hasn't been exasperating you too much."

Riley blushed, "Mom." She groaned.

"Will you be joining us for supper?"

"No, ma'am." Sanford was quick with his answer. "I actually should be heading home now. Mom will be worried."

"Right, dear." She smiled, watching Sanford make his way out the room. "Tell your mother hello for me."

Riley saw the contract in her hand and jumped up. "Sanford wait!" she took his hand in hers and for a moment, startled him with the touch of her hand for the first time. She slipped the contract into his hand and said "Please sign it, Sanford."

_I must have read this contract about fifty times_. Thinking this, he had to propel himself away from his desk and give himself a good slap on the face to wake himself up. Calling this a "contract"? This was a piece of schoolbook paper. You could see the rips she had made when pulling it out of the paperback.

"She spelled pledge with two 'g's." Sanford muttered beneath his breath. _I'm not actually thinking of signing this am I? _

But then he saw her face pop up in his head. Her smile had him let go of all his arrogance; it didn't matter if the contract was written in crayon or blood. It mattered even less if he got homework out of the deal or not.

Little thought passed through his mind when he signed the contract that night.

Anyone would have laughed at this sight. A folded up sheet of inky white paper held between Sanford's rugged, scarred hands and Riley whose hands were as fair and supple as a daisy petal. This person would have laughed even harder at Riley's face when she took the paper by both hands and saw his signature written below in blue ink.

Her face rose from the contract and the glow in her eyes shook as her gaze seared deep into Sanford's consciousness and good will.

With her unchanged face she spoke quickly, without a second thought, "May I hug you Sanford Wesley Clark?"

He lost his balance a bit at this, comically pulling his bag strap further over his shoulder and with a red face, muttering a stutter, "D-don't do that."

She saluted him gladly, "Understood."

Riley lifted up her hand, awaiting his. She took his bruised paw and gave it a good business man shake. And with the same bright welcoming smile she'd greeted him with every morning; she opened her delicate mouth and spoke, "Welcome to the Remarkable Museum of the Bizarre."

She'd told him to meet her by the bus stop bench about half a block away from Brickwall High for their first examination which would be held at Riley's garden. She'd arrived at the meeting place ten minutes earlier than he.

They then made their way to Riley's garden, chatting about Charlie Chaplin on the way while exchanging thoughts about Principal Powell at the same time. This continued on even through halfway of their examination. They started with Sanford's English Homework first, giving them a total of twenty minutes for inspection time.

Sanford was secretly worried the whole way about what she would ask him. Would she go straight to the root of his trauma? Or would she ask him what his favorite color was? Would she ask him where he'd been seven months ago? Or would she ask him about his father's birthplace?

The examination wasn't at all like he had imagined. She was not asking, interrogating, grilling, or quizzing. They were talking, conversing, sharing, and as lame as it sounds: exchanging.

It was almost like she had sneaked him into sharing things with her, with that exceptional magnetism of hers which would reel in words out of his mouth like hooks did fish. She'd lie on the ground, her belly on a blanket and her chin cradled between her soft palms.

They talked about his relationship with his parents. How he wished he had a sibling to keep his parents company in times where he felt lonely and isolated and different. He spoke about how he wishes he could laugh with them just once, he wished a moment could arise where silence would let them make jokes with one another and laugh about the idiotic outside world and sing about how no one knows them like they do each other.

It was laughable how much she managed to squeeze out of him. He went home that night and as much as he'd hate me for telling you this, he cried. With his back against his door and his head buried in his arms between his knees with his tears streaming far down his neck. He cried.

The next day was a Saturday. While some kids were busy watching Chaplin's new film, combing out their hair, or wandering around parks with each other, Sanford and Riley woke up that morning preparing themselves for their second examination.

Sanford began to grow used to saying "Hey" out of pure habit. Before, he'd have to prepare his greeting in his mind a minute or two before saying anything. The truth was that he was inspired by how Riley would greet him, with a face so chock-full of blithe she'd raise her head and sing "good morning" or "hi there" or "hey, Sanford". He might have liked it when she said his name the best. But to the smallest degree did it make it the best. Sanford, Northcott or not, wasn't so sentimental about little things like that.

But greetings only lasted for so long and the real escapade would begin.

"Today we will delve deep into the vast uncharted subjects of academic self-assurance." With her fingers interlaced with one another and her chin sweetly above it she began the examination.

Sanford scratched his head, "There's not much to say."

"That's the same thing you said yesterday," she said.

"You already know that English isn't my best subject."

She nodded, "It's an emotionally stimulating class."

A sharp, gruff laugh escaped him, "I'm not made out of stone, I have some sort of emotional range." He continued after some thought and hesitation, "I'm just not comfortable sharing it with Miss Samuels."

With a new type of smile which Sanford saw for the first time only, Riley pursed her lips together and sucked in a conceited grin, "I'm glad you're comfortable sharing stuff with _me_."

He rolled his eyes in jest "Miss Samuels never wrote a contract." There was a silence and Sanford involuntarily filled it in, "Numbers though, sciences and stuff, there's nothing personal about that."

She put her finger to her chin, recalling a memory and with her eyes rolled to the side of her head she said, "A teacher's had me sign a contract once. It had something to do with an agreement to refrain from property damage." She recalled an incident where she'd "stolen" some samples off of a teacher's rare exotic plant. "But that was in my old school: Saint Graham's School for Girls."

He caught a glimpse of the not-at-all-distant future where Riley would ask him where he attended before Brick Wall. Avoiding this at all costs, the only thing he could come up with was: "Oh."

"Where did you go for junior high?" And there it was.

"The Scholastic Conception Academy," he lied.

"Oh, did you have any friends there?"

He ran his fingers through his bangs and brushed them over his eyes, "I can't remember. It was long ago."

It was quiet for a while and Riley disliked the touch of silence on her skin. "So phys ed counts as academics, I suppose… Why don't you do any sports?"

Ah, sports. "I'm not a fan of the whole team idea, its too much responsibility. Besides, I've got a bad left arm. Can't do a thing with it."

It was true. Back at Northcott, besides driving around the country and collecting kids, another hobby of Uncle Gordon's was to beat Sanford. Sanford's body had a peculiar habit of rolling onto his right side while being beaten, curled in that defensive fetal position which helped him little. This plus the never ending pressure the hammering of the axe did to his left arm made it almost useless to this day.

"What happened to it?"

Another silence and, "Fell down the stairs," he lied again.

Riley's face lit up, "I actually have an article in my notebook about a guy born with two left arms. I can show you a picture if you'd like—"

He drove his hand down his face, "No thanks, Riley—"

She reached into her backpack, her tongue sticking out of her lower lip as she felt her way for the book. While she did this, Sanford felt a slab of guilt roll down his throat and down to his feet- she'd be fumed if she ever found out he lied to her.

She eventually found it, and then began to flip through the pages. One page with a black and white photo of a family which was most definitely not Mr. and Mrs. Fischer caught Sanford's eye.

"Hey, what's that?"

Riley didn't bother to take a look at what he was referring to, "My parents." She looked up from her notebook and laughed softly at Sanford's face, he was confused—those weren't her parents. "I look nothing like Mom and Dad, Sanford."

"I thought that but I figured it was my imagination."

Riley wouldn't look up again, she looked determined to find that two-lefted man's photo but Sanford knew she was trying to avoid the subject of her parents. "What happened?"

She smiled softly, "Oh, my biological parents deserted me." She put her notebook down for a moment and began reciting her story with a sad, quirky enthusiasm, "Mom and Dad found me in an abandoned school house, like one of those sappy life novels, can you believe that? … They left this picture with me. I thought I'd keep it in the notebook as an entry to my museum: an example of the botched human organism."

"I'm sorry."

"You wouldn't believe how much hate, selfishness, and dishonesty this world harbors." She picked up her notebook and continued to look for the photo, "But that's why I want to make this museum. Give the people something to be fascinated by and inspired by. Let them know that strange things don't always have to be bad things."

At that moment, Sanford wished he wouldn't let her down.

"See, two left arms."

Sanford cringed at the new photo Riley had shoved before his eyes.

Sanford arrived home that day with a pot of stew for a body. He felt like a hollow bag of skin jam-packed with mixed emotions and ingredients.

He firstly felt guilty for lying to Riley, he also felt stupid for not expecting him trying to hide his past and Riley trying to know his past to conflict with each other, and lastly he felt satisfied of how much he had learned about Riley. Was it fair to her that he found out more about her than she did about him that day? He didn't know but he felt like he was breaking no rules by being curious about this girl. He was breaking rules, however, by lying.

The rest of the week went by rather predictably, ignoring their idiosyncratic examination focus areas. They had discussions about careers and favorite animals in the same minute. One moment, their talks would be quirky and laughable but in an instant they could change and like a switch would be flicked on in Sanford's heart, she'd trigger sentiments and passionate emotions of profound misery, liberation, regret, and sometimes contentment. Sanford had luckily been able to keep his secret from Riley. But it was no longer about the secret anymore.

Over the days he found himself trying to learn as much from her as he could. He'd go home going over what she had said about the balance of life and how the disruptions to that equilibrium or the bizarre, despite being resented all make that equilibrium possible. With Riley, it was either understand or don't and he tried his best to understand. And for the last three days of the week, he legitimately had forgotten about Northcott ranch. Until Wednesday the next day.

"Today, I'd like to start by thanking you for staying with us for so long. The Remarkable Museum of The Bizarre is very grateful."

Sanford felt his pale cheeks turn a bit pink. Sometimes he wished she'd drop that Museum stuff with him.

With a dreamy sigh, Riley completely flipped her temper from professional to unprofessional. She laid down on the grassy soil, "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

He gave the idea some thought and found that he had no thought to spend of the consideration. "Life itself is enough; I don't want to go thinking about anything bigger than it."

But Riley was an explorer and she'd discover life and beyond life and beyond the world and beyond the universe. Sanford knew this and was caught in this charm of hers.

She turned on her side, lifting her head up and holding it up with her hand, "I think I was Amerigo Vespucci in my past life... If you were someone in your past life, who do you think you were?"

"Abe Lincon," he joked.

They shared a nippy moment of light laughter.

She laid back again, spreading her arms out to pet the soft blue grass. "It makes you think, doesn't it? Is a person's passion or trauma a product of your soul or a product of your life?" Her eyes were lost in the clouds, "If my parents hadn't left me, would I have turned out to be the incredible scientist I am today?"

"I think the events of your past make you what you are but it doesn't make you _who _you are."

Riley turned her head to Sanford, pushing herself up to meet his eyes, "I think I've gone backwards in all of this." She tucked her legs beneath her dress, "I know who you are but I don't know what you are."

He scoffed, "Are you saying I'm a thing? Not human?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Human beings are selfish, dishonest, cruel creatures."

"Please, don't say that," he said. "Stop expecting me to make you promises of what I will be for you. I don't think I can take being a letdown."

"But you wouldn't be. I want to know about your past."

"You don't really mean that… Trust me."

Riley felt offended at this point. "I _won't _trust you!"

Sanford howled back, "How can you expect me to trust you if you can't do the same for me?" he ran his fingers through his coarse hair, pulling it over his face, "This is horse shit."

Riley diverted her attention to the ground, "I don't understand why you're being so difficult with this" Then she aggressively called for his attention, "A scientist can't work with the surface of a specimen, she must discover it down to its roots."

Sanford kicked his foot off the ground and shot up, "I'm not a specimen, Riley!"

"Hey!" She did the same.

"I don't want to do this anymore." He turned for the fence and began trudging in its direction.

"You can't say that now! You signed the contract!"

His feet froze and he turned around. With a brutality she'd never seen in him she saw him prod towards her with a gloomy fire in his eyes, "You think I signed the contract to be researched on!"

She tugged on her dress, "What's wrong with you all of a sudden! We have fun don't we? I just want to figure you out!"

"I don't want people to figure me out! Why can't you figure _that_ out!"

"Do you want to be figured out or not!"

"I don't know!" He felt a force haul his insides from his gut out of his mouth, "I don't even know what there is about me to be researched on or thought about, so how can you when I can't myself?"

"What is it that you so desperately don't want to share with me! As a scientist, you owe me the truth!"

"You don't want to know!" He maliciously hissed, his voice resuming the low, gruff intonation of an animal. They both felt as though their lungs would explode at this point.

"Yes, I do!"

"You wouldn't understand!"

"How could I not!"

"Stop being so stubborn!"

"Stop being so cagey!"

"Do you really wanna know!" Sanford's blood had boiled down to the only solid remaining in his heart which he had failed to unravel to Riley, the truth.

"Yes!" All thought dispersed.

"I've killed before!"

And for the first time, Riley ran out of words to say.

"Okay!" Sanford was so full of rage that he'd failed to realize that his eyes began to water and his voice carried on as the shaky, hoarse tone of a screaming child. "Don't you get it? I don't belong in a museum; I belong in a jail cell" with that, he drove his fist through the shallow branches of a tree beside him, spinning on his heel and heading for the road.

They hadn't spoken to each other in two weeks after that. Sanford noticed Riley looking at him many times but he'd turn his head to the ground or the other side every time.

But when school was over and there was no one to lecture him or talk with him after seven hours of Mrs. Samuels and Mrs. Flemming, he'd head for the bus stop bench where they'd meet each other and hold his head by his forehead and think about where he'd go from there. He supposed he could take the bus somewhere but the place he wanted to go wasn't attainable by bus.

"I remember seeing your name in the paper."

He looked up and saw Riley with her head poked over him from behind the bench. She dragged her feet babyishly; her hands locked behind her back as she made her way next to him. With a quick spring she plopped herself on the seat next to him. "I'm sorry about your uncle."

Sanford kicked the ground, "Don't feed me that cock-a-bull empathy stuff! The bastard deserved it."

A small sigh of relief escaped her. "You're right." Silence took over as Sanford focused his attention on the grimy ground. "You know, I heard about the murders at Northcott ranch everywhere in Chicago. People were reading into it like bingo numbers." His persistent silences made her face him abruptly, demanding his attention with a nudge, "I'm not going to feed you some story about how I don't care and I'm not disturbed. The truth is I am." She had his attention, his eyes shifted from the floor to her difficult face. "But, this makes you an even better entry to my museum." She felt the way the words tasted in her mouth and decided what she had said was true. She faced forward, hiked her leg up over the other and rubbed her chin. "Yeah, yeah, you are. I just might have hit the mother load with you."

He felt a tickle rise up from his belly and vibrate within his throat, it escaped as a breath of air and he was laughing. His laughter sounded hoarse and strange, Riley had to watch him. He let go of his belly and sighed, "Riley Fischer," her eyes lit up, "You should be an entry to your own museum."

Sanford half knew that Riley had said that stuff to make him feel less uncomfortable. But it worked.

From there, the two resumed talking about everything that had happened at Northcott. Everything from how Sanford was talked into leaving Canada to how he was beaten and forced to take part in the savagery. She had asked him why he had done it, his response came to him instantly but left a bitter spiciness in his mouth- he said he was scared and she looked at him with a peculiar stare. She hadn't offered to change the subject that whole day and Sanford never wanted to change subjects, he spoke of every detail- replaying each haunting memory in his mind, watching Riley's expression and interpreting his fate within the depths of her eyes. By this point, Riley knew more about him than anyone ever hoped to know. And though Sanford did not know it yet, he knew her just as well.


	3. The Two Get Close

Three weeks flew by and their sessions together always seemed never to be enough for them which was strange since the two had begun riding Sanford's bike from school to Riley's house which gave them an extra ten minutes. Nonetheless, Riley still said her goodbyes with groans and pulled on her fence playfully as she'd say it and Sanford would feel as though his hand doubled in weight when he'd hold it up to wave farewell.

Riley hopped off the back of Sanford's bike with a kick off and made his wheels rattle. Sanford gave a soft scoff and knocked the bike down to the ground and ran for Riley's backyard. Today was a regular day but much more special.

Riley hopped on her little sister's swing set. "I wonder what we should discuss for today's session?"

Sanford followed soon after, "You didn't plan ahead of time?" He spoke with a pretend shock. Riley pointed behind her, ordering him with a playful smile to push her. He pushed her light back forward with every swing.

There was a silence and Riley looked up at the sky. "Do you have any childhood stories, Sanford? Before Northcott? Nice ones?"

Sanford took a few moments to think about this. "I don't remember any." Not one.

But as Riley's back swung towards him and his fingers touched the soft frills of her collar he remembered something. "Wait," he thought about it and saw lights before his eyes, he remembered the sun—he remembered seeing flowers and his mother in front of him. "I remember being with my mom. To the park or some garden. I'm standing behind her and it ends."

Riley gave a soft smile. "Today's my birthday,"

He rendered her swing seat to a halt and looked down at her. "It is?"

"Yeah," She laughed. Then she put down her feet and hopped off the swings. "Well get your books out, let's finish our homework first."

Uh oh, Sanford tilted his head, "Damn, I forgot my English books at home."

Riley groaned. "Really?"

Sanford was already stumbling over the swing seat on his way to the fence. "Shit, yeah." He laughed.

"Run!" Riley roared.

Moments later, Sanford returned half panting. Riley stood up to greet him and he pulled out a simple but earthily beautiful looking pinecone from his back.

She looked at it. "What's this?" She took it in her hand.

Sanford scratched the back of his head and mumbled: "It's a pinecone. Found it last fall." Riley traced her fingers around its outline with fascination. "It's not weird or bizarre like you like stuff to be but a pinecone on its own is a bit funny looking." She looked up at him. "Happy Birthday."

Riley stared at him for a while then spoke. "The truth is, it's not really my birthday." She giggled softly then looked back down at the gift. "Today's the day I was found, I don't really know what day I was born. Birthdays never really meant anything to me. I think," She paused. "I think this is the first time I actually feel as though it's my birthday."

Sanford gave a small smile. She looked down timidly and leaned in to nudge him softly by the arm but let her head gently fall to touch his chest and she stood there, staring at his shoes. "Thanks." Sanford felt his cheeks heat up to the smallest degree.

Suddenly Sanford laughed, "I forgot to bring my English notebooks."

They laughed.

Riley put down a piece of paper by the pinecone which she left on her desk. The paper read "Sanford's present." She leaned down to take a good look at it and couldn't help but feel a heat in her cheeks. She slowly walked over to her bed and landed with a thump, looking up with a small timid smile as she tried to analyze this emotion.

Lunch time had changed since Riley's arrival at Brickwall High. It's not wrong to say that it changed only for Sanford, especially since he was the only person she bothered to pay any attention to—but it changed for everyone else. Sanford stopped being that weird kid at the back of the room; he had a friend with him now. And that friend was Riley. Regardless of the fact that she hardly bothered to go out of her way to say hello to someone—when they'd ask her something, she'd reply with blithe and glee and everyone liked Riley even if she didn't exactly like them back.

To some degree, Sanford had become normal in a sense that there was something more strange than scary about him, more mystical than mysterious because Riley was mystical and because Riley was his.

But this was all unknown to Riley. She hadn't known how much of an effect she'd made on him and she was looking to find out.

Riley watched Sanford make no opposition as she sat down in front of him. No unease. He glanced at her, "What's wrong?" he said casually, reaching for his spoon.

"Nothing," she hastily replied. She reached for her own set of dining utensils and as her spoon stirred inside her apple sauce, the voice in her head stirred in her mind in search for some way she could ask Sanford all of the following: Are we best friends? Can I call you my best friend? Do you like me? Do I like you?

But little did she know that he was rummaging through his thoughts for the same things.

Sanford was whistling on his ride to Riley's house. He was whistling _Daisy Daisy_. As he kicked himself off his bike he imagined himself from two months ago time travelling to the present and laughing at his whistling, happy future self. It was laughable. But the happy kind. The kind that ought to have dancing along with it. Music even. He walked past the fence and his whistling stopped when he caught a sudden glimpse of bright light.

Riley stood before him, glowing like a peach and dressed like a blossom. Her hair down with a white ribbon tied around her head and the rest of her was wrapped in three soft pink fabrics. Even two-months-ago-Sanford would admit: She was the most beautiful thing Sanford had ever seen.

"Well say something, you damn dunce," Riley's yell came out as a hushed song. She pulled the ends of her hair back behind her shoulders and looked up at him after some silence, "Is it dumb?"

He wanted to call her an angel. "No."

Riley looked down at her feet with a satisfied beam then shot a bright look at Sanford—ahh, the scientist. "So I was wondering if we could skip research today!"

"Skip research? Who are you?" Sanford joked, folding his arms before his chest. Then he remembered something, "there's a Harvest Festival down the street. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go."

Riley grinned, walking towards his bike and smacking him on the shoulder as she passed him, "you could have told me first."

"Looks like you already knew," Sanford said, running ahead of her and throwing her dress skirt up as a tease.

"I'm gonna throw you bike down the river, Clark!"

"Awfully friendly with Patrick Fischer's little girl, aren't you?"

"Jesus!" Sanford was shocked half to death by his mother as he sneaked into his house from his late night with Riley at the Harvest Fest. He took a moment to compose himself. "She, uhm," he smiled, "she makes me laugh."

He didn't know why he had said that. But it made his mother's eyes grow big and take her apron off and watch him in delight.

"Bring her over some time," She smiled. "I could use a laugh myself."

If Mr. or Mrs. Clark had opened the door at the ring, they would have been shocked to hear the first words come out of Riley's mouth be "I demand to see your room."

Sanford gave her a half lidded glare. It's funny how she could be this angel one night and be a devilish snooper the next morning. He'd have butterflies if it wasn't for her kooky demeanor. He liked her scientist side but whether she knew that he knew it or not—the difference between curiosity and research is clear to even Sanford Wesley Clark.

Readying her for the disappointment she deserved, Sanford swung the door open and leaned against the panel of it—taking a good look at his chambers, himself. Dull.

Riley scoped the room, took note of the almost completely empty desk, looked under the bed for dirty magazines, and pulled out her notebook. Sanford wondered why she had accepted his invitation so enthusiastically but now he understood that this was the only way she'd spider her way into his room without it being illegal. But wow, she was in his room. How weird was this?

Riley took a deep breath of satisfaction. She could stare at his walls all day. She found something lovable in every corner. Then she cleared her throat with an embarrassing thought, "So am I the first girl who has ever been in your room?" She asked nonchalantly, looking up from her notebook with her beady green eyes—pretending that she was still writing but again: there is a difference between curiosity and research.

He lost balance a bit at this. He had had a flashback just then of Riley the night before with her hair loose and spectacular, it almost made him want to slide the ribbon off her hair. Then he frowned a bit at how well she could tease him. "Not the first," he said, making _her_ lose her balance. With that he shut the door behind him as he left her in his room. Ah, revenge.

"Ass!" Riley said, shutting the door behind her as she followed him. She looked up to give him a look at her tongue but Mr. Clark stood in his place. She bent to the side to see Sanford behind his father, shrugging at her embarrassment.

"Hi there," Mr. Clark said with little enthusiasm. "Son," he greeted, turning around to give his son a beam just before walking down the stair case to his left.

Riley bit her lower lip and groaned from her chest as her and Sanford turned for the stair case in unison. They made their way down, whispering playful curses at each other.

"Is that Riley?" Mrs. Clark poked her head out from the kitchen door.

"Yes, Ma'am," she leered.

"Sweetie, you're early," Mrs. Clark patted the hair on her head, "it'll be at least another ten minutes!"

"It's okay, mom, we have some stuff to talk about anyway."

"Don't worry about it one bit, Mrs. Clark," Riley put on her charming face.

"Well," Mrs. Clark was charmed, "don't let me stop you kids." And with that she turned back to her pot.

"_Do_ we have something to talk about?" Riley said.

"Not in particular," he laughed a bit at his next thought, "But why do I feel like you do?"

"We should paint," she looked up in thought to say, not missing a beat. She jumped at the next, "or collect stamps. Which is better?"

"Neither," he didn't miss his cue, "why do I need to choose one?"

"I've figured out that you need a hobby. And," she folded her arms and rested her back on the comfortable wall of their tiny living room, "I'm saying this as a friend, not a scientist."

She felt herself get a bit giddy at this delivery. She had subtly solidified her place in his life as a friend. And he liked the friend side of her too.

"I wouldn't call my museum a hobby but it gives me a drive," she rested herself off of the wall and sauntered towards him in deep thought, "something to invest your emotions in can help you get over your trauma."

That's right, his trauma. Trauma's been driving him all these years and he's been going downhill for every second of the ride. But Sanford knows that it takes something special to be able to drive yourself.

"Or even just a simple talent you can exercise," she spoke without much thought. Sanford lit up with a tiny thought then but after further thought he sunk his neck back down and decided not to mention it.

"I don't have enough talent to have a drive," he admitted to himself and to Riley, "I lose things too often to collect and I don't have the heart for art."

Mrs. Clark spoke from inside the kitchen, "It'll be about five minutes more! Play Riley Claire de Lune while she waits, Sandord!"

"Mom." Sanford stood up.

Sure enough, she looked up and saw a small but perfect wooden piano lodged at the corner of the room with a plant and shelf cozy beside it. The wood called for Riley's touch and she almost purred at the allure of it. It reminded her so much of Sanford.

"Sanford, the museum ought to quit you for not mentioning this," she gushed light and raced over to it. "The most perfect spinet piano I've ever seen—Sanford, this is ideal."

"I'm not playing it."

"But I will," she cracked her knuckles.

"You're a crock'a shit," he ragged in disbelief.

"You jerk, I'll prove it!"

_Daisy, Daisy_

_Give me your answer do_

_I'm half crazy all for my love of you…_

She played poorly—with giggles between words and time taken to find the next note which dragged the last syllable of her song on for too long. Her fingers slipped at times and the wrong note rang like an obvious error.

Her eyes didn't move an inch from the keys and she tilted her head towards him with a whisper, careful not to break her conversation as her hands went along with the rest of the song. "Come on, show me how"

He couldn't shake off the thought of yesterday night's Riley anymore. Now he had three of them to deal with, as if one wasn't enough: the scientist, the friend, and the one from yesterday night. But they were now one and it was mesmerizing.

He smiled a bit then took his place behind her, stretching his arms forward to frame hers. She shook a bit.

"What are you doing?" She said with a nervous swallow.

He took hold of her right hand with his right and her left with his left, Riley was brought directly in front of him with her head beside his and his arms cradling the outside of her arms. They looked as if they shared the same wrist and their fingers belonged to one person.

"I know the song, you sing and I'll play," he said. She cleared her throat with a light laugh, trying to pull herself together.

_Daisy, Daisy_

_Give me your answer do_

_I'm half crazy all for my love of you_

_It won't be a stylish marriage_

_I can't afford a carriage_

_But you'd look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two_

She would have made an effort to remember the notes or even make an effort at singing but he had her by a hook. She had never been this close to him nor had she ever seen him so out of character. She'd been ridiculously taken and her singing sounded more like a whimper with a melody.

The last note put a smile on both their faces but then Riley noticed that Sanford made no motion to move away from her so she took another breath and felt his hands over hers for one more second. She felt so comfortable. She could rest her head against his now and fall asleep. But her chest wouldn't let her—she'd brought a drum with the piano and it was teasing her with its beat. But she liked this song and she felt so comfortable.

"Sanford," she started

He was snapped out from his daze. _What am I doing? _He pulled back a bit; his hands graced her wrists gently. But then she grabbed back his hands in weak opposition. "Wait," she said with red cheeks. After some more silence she said, "Could you put your arms around me?" She gave him a look over her shoulder, "just for an experiment," she lied.

He swallowed nervously and let himself drive his hands over to her waist then cross the delicate ribbon around her stomach to wrap himself around her body tightly. He rested his head in her hair. She held his arms around her with the strongest heat building from her cheeks. And for a second, she couldn't remember the name of her museum.


	4. So Much More Than Friends

Dinner was lasagna and chicken fillet. This was much more glamorous than it sounds. Mrs. Clark would be the best cook in Toronto if her timidity would let her. Now that Sanford thought about it, she wasn't always this timid. She'd bubble with laughter in her conversations on the phone, in the super market, at the dinner table. She hardly giggled now. He felt a slab of guilt run down and through his throat as he grasped how much his ordeal had changed the world. And now she looked for laughter in Riley. But he liked her too much to share and enjoyed her far to much to let her be away from him. Friend or foe, he would never let Riley belong to anyone else than him.

He was shocked at his thoughts. He'd never heard himself sound so selfish before. Why was he so out of character?

"Riley," Mr. Clark spoke up for the first time tonight. "How's your father doing?"

"Very good, sir. He told me to greet you for him, I forgot."

Mr. Clark smiled, "That's good. We're going fishing this weekend. Frosty lakes are homes to the fattest fish you could ever hope to see."

And the pointless chatter went on. Sanford didn't speak throughout dinner. He didn't even pay attention until his mother said something that gave him chills.

"I hear the Winter Wonderland Dance is coming up next week. Excited?"

Riley shrugged with a small smile.

Indeed, there was a Winter Wonderland Dance which was to be held on Christmas day. In High School gymnasium, according to this cheap blue flier. Why did this poster stir such angst in Sanford?

He heard some girls giggle as they passed him. He pulled his back pack closer to him and turned his head in some other direction—hoping to God no one saw him gawking at the poster.

"I saw that," Riley jumped up behind him.

Sanford choked a bit, "saw what?"

"You went on ahead of me and thought you could beat me to Biology class," She gave him that charming growl in her eyes. "But I'm a fast walker."

Sanford nodded.

Riley laughed a bit in response, "Oh, come on," she gazed at him with a quizzical look. "You were so talkative yesterday, I hardly recognized you. Now you're back to the you from two months ago?"

It was funny because he could say the same thing about her. He could never forget the nervous, blushing, and hold-me-Sanford side of her that confused him even if he tried.

But then he was out of character too, he guesses. He remembered having those thoughts at dinner—of calling her his and not sharing her with anyone.

He watched her as they walked to class. She was mumbling something about the library but he didn't pay attention.

"So, the dance thing's kind of dumb, isn't it?" Riley looked down as she spoke.

Sanford continued to follow his own thoughts and he decided to be like Riley for a moment and analyze like a scientist.

"I imagine we'd do some research instead of going to the dance but what if we just went for the heck of it?" She said.

A few doorways passed and the way he had taken her in his arms like that, the way he had written her as his in his mind and the way he adored her could only be described as possessive, aggressive, animalistic. The side of him he thought Riley had replaced. The tamer had become the bait.

"I'm thinking about putting research away for a while."

Then they passed the fifth doorway and unlike the other ones they had passed, he saw Uncle Gordon reflected upon the glassy window where his reflection ought to have been.

He was scared of himself.

Riley laughed lightly, not brave enough to look at him—good that she didn't, she would have been worried to see him trembling. "I guess I'm asking you to go with me."

Her voice forced him to take a look at her. She looked so fragile—he'd break her with this side of him. He was sure. "What?" he asked, unsure if she even said anything.

She looked at him both embarrassed and disappointed. "I asked you to the dance, Sanford," she looked up again at him with caution.

"I can't," he said simply.

She shot her eyes to the ground, "You can't or you don't want to?" she asked with a temper. "Answer my question, I'm asking as a scientist and you must answer."

His voice still shaky and parts of him still trembling—he answered without much thought and without much voice, "I don't want to hurt you, Riley."

She gave him a nod, thinking she'd understood his answer, swallowed hard and walked to class.

Sanford was unaware of how much he had hurt Riley. But he sat back now and decided to trust Riley and trust himself for letting himself admit to needing her.

Sanford passed the fence door with a quizzical look on his face as his eyes inspected the girl who'd normally be standing on her toes with her hand in the air sit as still as stone before him. "You didn't wait in front of the school," he said.

"I didn't feel like it," she looked up at him. "Sorry."

He didn't know how he should react at this point. Lord knows Sanford was never the driver in neither a conversation nor a friendship. He'd participate in Riley's game only when forced. And Riley always forced. With or without his consent, she'd have her arms pressed against his back—pushing him out of the dark ranch he lived in and out into her grassy back yard where their lives were the universe and they were astronauts. But now the captain was pulling the plug and he could neither understand why nor breathe. He was losing air and he either needed to find some in the black void or simply get out.

His grip around his bag tightened, he was losing his temper. He almost wanted to yell at her and demand for her attention. _She is mine, isn't she? Wait—no… No she's not. God, why can't I control this animalistic side of me?_

"I'll leave," he murmured. "I'll come back tomorrow," he added. _Please, please don't be mad at me by then._

His reaction was something Riley was not expecting. If she denied him, she'd expect a cry or a plea—not a perfect view of his back. Why wouldn't he have her? Riley watched him walk away from her and she drove the ship to the sun. The captain was consumed in flames and she'd burn in hell for what she was about to do but she'd drag this astronaut with her.

"I'm quitting the contract!"

Sanford turned around to get a good look at her. To his disbelief, she was as serious as the plague. "You can't do that," getting out would have to wait. He'd search for air—no, he'd fight for it. "I'm the one who signed it!"

"Well I'm the one who wrote it and if I say I quit, I quit."

"Why does it have to be like this?"

"This?"

"You! Up or down, you always see-saw between two extremes! You were so keen on me being your experiment and now you don't _feel like it_."

"I don't want you to be my experiment anymore, I want to be your friend—well, I wanted—now I don't want you to be my anything," she turned around to retreat.

"Riley!" He battled for her attention as he grabbed her arm and forced her eyes to meet his. Pure frustration filled his body to his fingertips. "Can't you tell I've wanted to be your friend since we met? I'm trying to keep my distance because that's how much I like you! Don't you see this is dangerous!"

"You don't have to say anything anymore," glossiness took over her eyes and her voice shook within her throat. She pried his fingers off of herself and her soul spoke without her mind's consent. "It's clear I like you much, much more than you like me and now I hate you."

He drew his arm to him with a jerk and grasped his hands around Riley's shoulders, bringing her in for a forceful kiss. She pushed him away and drew her fingers to her lips in disbelief.

"That wasn't very polite of you." Her voice came out shakily and the gloss in her eyes swelled. "That was the first time anybody's kissed me."

Sanford had lost the battle with Gordon and with himself. He was no survivor of the incident—he was the walking, talking version of it. He turned around and held his aching head, not believing what he'd just done and convinced he's ruined his friendship with his best friend.

She watched his back for a moment, her fingers still to her lips. She saw his heavy shoulders rise and descend and a tension in his arms. She took a few steps towards him and put her hand on his shoulder. He jerked back, making her wrench back in shock. He breathed through his teeth, she saw confusion in his eyes that made her arm draw further forward and touch his shoulder. His tension melted away. She timidly reached for his hands and drew them up to cup her cheek gently. She placed her hand behind his neck and drew in for a soft, tender kiss.

* * *

Sorry! I'm not quite done! I did this all on my own before my account so let me just see how this story does on this site and then I'll think about finishing it :)

I left you off with a nice temporary end, though!


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